She said nothing, she said nothing, she would
say nothing until after she returned.
Beyond
the beyond.
It
was not a voice, exactly, but it was direction.
It
was, exactly, a price.
Beyond
the beyond 1 must venture beyond beyond.
1 word,
2, what could encompass the exertion, the persistence,
the fortitude the stalwart
form assumed irregardless of hope.
Hope
was not mentioned.
Hope
was not required.
Beyond
beyond.
Go
there, Esme(e)'s voice within her head, her
thought, her decision, suppose it were a choice?
They were said to exist, though
whether fashioned or fabled or burgeoning, cloudy,
careless, ah well, it
was the going which was significant,
somehow mattered. To Esme(e).
Could
she make it happen? Did she? Or
was she an actor merely, or duped, however
gravid and protean prescience kept its cloak
about it tightly sealed
the seed the chime
stilled beyond beyond
where nothing was and nothing meant to be that
was the purpose of it and the going.
Esme(e)
ventured though in going it was only walking,
walking, endlessly until all habitations, roads,
rivers, mountains, forests and verdant vistas
were behind and beyond was flatness and blankness
and not quite silence and beyond was
1 step more.
Esme(e)
took a step.
Tired,
weary, booted feet and tested legs and lights
and lungs Esme stepped once more and entered
beyond beyond. Her boots
stood upon it. Her mouth was dry. She stepped
upon it, another, another, she walked upon
it beyond beyond colorless,
crackling, her mouth was dry in heat, in uncertainty
for suspicioned she the where she walked was but a
crust, friable, fickle, subject to bribes,
whimsies, and false turns downward.
Esme(e)
walked on.
Eyes
dim with weariness Esme(e) went on with
suitable persistence which was her way and
her endeavor and her enduring. She did not
question that. She understood that.
That
was given.
And
it was not law, but choice.
Beyond.